


And Baby Makes Four

by everlovingdeer



Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [181]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Muggle Life, Muggle/Wizard Relations, One Night Stands, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlovingdeer/pseuds/everlovingdeer
Summary: “Please, please,” my desperation had me actually whispering under my breath.Distantly my phone rang, letting me know that my time was up. Drawing in a deep breath, I held it even as my lungs burned. Slowly, at a snail’s pace, I removed my thumb to get a good look at the result. Gasping, I sighed heavily and dropped my head once more.Positive.Shit.So much for forgetting it had ever happened.
Relationships: Dennis Creevey/Original Female Character(s), Dennis Creevey/Reader
Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [181]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461751
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	1. And Baby Makes Four

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a while ...

Moving, no matter how many times I’d done it, was always stressful. Even though I’d spent the last three years moving into and out of accommodation at the beginning and end of each academic year, I had not been prepared for the stress of moving into my first apartment post leaving university. Of course, this would all be a _lot_ less stressful if I wasn’t so annoyed at my own ineptitude. It seemed like every time I struggled to carry a box into the flat, Dennis was somehow putting down the second box he’d carried in the time it took me to handle one. His ease at lifting these boxes was only making me feel bad. 

But, after I’d finally set the last of the boxes down in the living room, I searched out a pair of scissors and cut open the tape I’d closed it with. Opening it, I was surprised to find that it contained my kitchen things even though the label on the side of the cardboard box had read ‘toiletries’. Frowning and chewing on my lower lip, I wondered if my toiletries had somehow found their way into the box where all my kitchen things were supposed to be? 

“I’ve moved the last of your bedroom stuff into your room,” Dennis said loudly from the hallway as he made his way into the living room. My best friend, who was now my roommate, considered me as I stood, looking the picture of confusion. He didn’t know that I was confused about how I’d made such a mistake when I’d triple-checked that everything was in the right box. Instead, he misunderstood and just gestured down the hallway to where my bedroom was, “You know, the boxes that have ‘bedroom’ written on them.”

“Thanks,” I said with a reassuring smile, not wanting to tell him that I was second-guessing the contents of those very boxes. What were the chances that the things for my bedroom had been placed into a different box? “Wait - wait, don’t sit down, help me. Please.”

Rolling his eyes, Dennis perched on the arm of the sofa and watched me as I sorted through the things that were going to go into the kitchen. I considered the mugs I’d collected whilst at university, wondering if we had space for all of them. Knowing Dennis, he hadn’t moved his things in properly yet - he’d have just sorted out his room and waited until I arrived to sort out the rest so we could agree about what went where. 

“You’re doing it again,” he started warning, absentmindedly scratching Shadow’s - my black cat’s - back when he jumped onto Dennis’s lap. 

“I’m not doing _anything.”_

The lazy cat stretched on his lap, preparing to take a nap to luxuriate in Dennis’s attention. When he was lifted from his perch, he made a sound of discontent but curled up onto the sofa cushion anyway. I looked away from them both, considering my mugs again when Dennis cleared his throat pointedly. I should have known better - he knew me too well. No matter how much I tried to hide the way I was fidgeting on my feet, he caught it. He always did. 

Ignoring Dennis’s knowing and piercing gaze, I started to fish out all the things from the box and set them on the table one by one. Piling the plates together and grouping everything, I folded the empty box in half and kicked it aside, tucking it under the table for now and keeping it out of the way. Picking up the pile of plates, I prepared to walk into the kitchen and to start with sorting out at least one room in this place. Once Dennis brought his kitchen things as well, we could begin deciding what went where and we’d get it done. After a room was done, the others were likely to soon fall into place. If we didn’t sort the boxes out, then we’d be forced to rifle through them each time we wanted something. And well, we had to start somewhere - we couldn’t exactly live in a half tidied place.

Before I could walk into the kitchen, Dennis was there and standing in front of me. I tried to avoid his eyes again, knowing I would find them _so_ soft and it would be enough to ease me, to make me forget the stress that was bubbling within me and threatening to spill over. And if that happened, I’d get nothing done. Despite knowing all that, I still let Dennis ease the pile of plates from my hand and put them onto the nearby table. 

“It’s alright,” he said firmly, stopping me from insisting that it _wasn’t_ alright. He lowered his head, ducking it to meet my lowered eyes and when I still said nothing in response, he squeezed my hand softly. It was something we’d developed at some point during our childhood; when it became obvious that I was beginning to work myself up, he’d hold my eyes and my hand, staying right next to me until I said something back, something to assure him that I was calming. 

His eyes, earnest and smiling, held mine and I found myself looking between them, jumping from one to the other. Did he know that from this close, I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes? 

“Vickers,” he prompted and I nodded, just once.

“It’s alright,” I echoed back his earlier sentiment, and was gifted a grateful smile in response. 

“It is.” Straightening to his full height, Dennis still held onto my hand and reassured me once more, “There’s no need for you to get so worked up, not when I’m here to help you. We’ll sort everything out together.” 

“God, what would I do without you?” I wondered aloud, removing my hand from his. 

Dennis just shrugged in response, offering me a teasing smile as he picked up the scissors I’d set aside and opened up another box of mine. He stripped it of the tape and paused, lifting his head as he suggested, “Your life would be a lot more boring without me, I can tell you that.”

“Don’t get a big head, Creevey.”

“Too late, all Creevey’s are born with big heads.”

“I’ve noticed,” I said dryly, “I feel sorry for your mother.”

Lifting his head again, Dennis sought me out as I stood across from him and smiled, even without realising it. He returned it with a smile of his own before gesturing behind me, “Go and set up your room the way you want. I’ll be here, unpacking all these boxes.”

I hesitated on the threshold, “... Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He waved his hand absentmindedly, rifling through whatever was in the box, “Get a move on, Vickers. The sooner we finish up, the sooner we can go grocery shopping.”

Complying and leaving him to it, I walked down the short corridor and to the very last door, my bedroom. Opening the door, I looked around the bare room, finding it littered with boxes that Dennis had moved for me. This was going to be a _lot_ of work. 

Walking towards the bed, I lifted a box onto the bare mattress and opened it. Peering inside, I groaned, wondering where the hell my bedsheets were because they certainly weren’t in the box I’d labelled as bedsheets. No, this box was, for some reason, filled with newspaper-wrapped candle holders. 

* * *

Two pairs of hands made lighter work than just the one, and so, with the two of us unboxing and sorting out the flat together, we were quick to finish. We worked with very little breaks, wanting to have everything set up and perfect as soon as we could. And yet, somehow, in the time it took me to work through one box of belongings, he had already worked through three or four.

With everything finally sorted out, we could begin living our lives. It was the strangest thing - until I lived with Dennis, I thought I knew him. I thought I knew him better than I knew the back of my hand, and yet, only after living with him did I realise that I hadn’t known him very much at all. Sure, I knew him because I grew up alongside him because I would spend entire days sleeping over at his house before puberty had kicked in and our parents weren’t sure that mixed sleepovers were the best option. Even with Dennis spending more of his time away at boarding school and away from me, I remained certain that I knew him. Except, now I was certain I didn’t know him too well. 

I hadn’t known that he had the most horrendous habit of leaving the toilet seat up, or that he hated having to push aside all the cushions that littered my bed whenever he decided to take it over. Sure enough, I hadn’t even known that when he went off to boarding school, he’d fallen out of touch with many of our childhood friends. Friends that I’d remained in contact with and friends that we’d invited around to our home for our first attempt at an adult dinner party. 

Even now, as I worked away in the kitchen, I kept an ear trained to the dining room where I could hear Dennis catching up with our friends. I let the sound of his laughter, deep and faint, to wash over me and to calm whatever nerves I had about tonight. This wasn’t that big of a deal - this was just our friends. Just our friends who were coming around for dinner. They weren’t going to judge and they weren’t going to make a scene if something went wrong. 

“Vickers?” I made a sound of acknowledgement, reaching for my oven mitts and opening it to get a look at the lasagne. 

Satisfied that it looked ready, I lifted the dish out of the oven and set it down on the counter. Closing the oven and removing the mitts, I glanced expectantly toward Dennis who hadn’t said a word. Leaning back against the counter, I asked, “What’s up, Creevey?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, walking further into the kitchen. He settled on the wall across from me, gesturing a thumb towards the dining room where our friend’s voices filtered in from. “Just haven’t seen much of you tonight. I didn’t want you hiding away in here and becoming a wreck.”

“I’m not becoming a wreck,” I assured him, gesturing to the piping hot lasagne. When he eyed me dubiously, I briefly wondered if he _did_ know that I had some worries about tonight and if I hadn’t been able to hide my worries as well as I’d thought. Still, I gave him a reassuring smile. “I was just checking on the food. Get a move on, Creevey. I’m taking this out, the sides are already on the table and _you_ can bring the wine.” 

He returned my smile with one of his own. “Roger that, captain.” 

Once more putting the oven mitts on, I picked up the lasagne dish and walked out into the dining room where our friends were sat, talking between each other. Although, from the way they were exchanging eye contact, I had the feeling that they’d forgotten where they were. Some childhood friends could become couples and break up and remain friends. Others broke up and entered a cycle of on-again-off-again relationships. The couple sitting in front of me were one of those couples. 

“I knew we should have invited a different pair,” I teased, setting the lasagne dish down. Removing the oven mitts, I set them aside and settled into my chair. 

“Hey,” Luka protested, finally averting his eyes from Abbey who had the decency to look a bit embarrassed at being caught exchanging heart eyes with the man she _swore_ just last night that she would never _ever_ go back to. “It’s not our fault you both disappeared off to the kitchen to canoodle.”

“Canoodle, Halliwell?” Abbey scoffed, shoving at his shoulder and saving me from having to point out to him that nothing was going on between Dennis and me. Regardless of how often he tried to suggest it over the course of this night. “What are you? 80?”

“I think I’ve proven more than enough that I’m still young and fit,” Luka said pointedly, ignoring the meaningful look I gave Abbey who started to portion out the lasagne so she had something to do. “Anyway Vickers, settle something we were talking about. Remember in the second year of uni, when we went out for drinks for Courtois’s birthday, I’m insisting that you knew that guy was flirting with you and were pretending not to realise it so you didn’t have to reject him. And _she_ thinks you’re just naive.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” I complained, looking to the doorway where Dennis had finally arrived with the now uncorked wine bottle. I knew he read my obvious distress from my face from the way his eyebrows rose, but he approached the table anyway. 

“Because I refuse to accept that you _didn’t_ know he was trying to get you to come home with him.” Luka glanced away from me, long enough to thank Abbey who had plated up the food for us all. 

Knowing it was better to be truthful and to accept the ribbing that would come with the truth, I admitted, “Well I didn’t realise it.” 

Sure enough, Luka started to laugh and even Dennis who took the seat beside me chuckled under his breath. Only Abbey spoke and even then, I couldn’t help but shoot her a dirty look. “Anyone would think you’re still a virgin, Vickers.” 

“Anyone would think that for someone who insists she’s strong-willed, you wouldn’t continue to make the same mistake,” I said pointedly, knowing she wouldn’t need further details. She didn’t. Abbey lowered her embarrassed eyes, knowing we’d be having a long phone call tonight as I finally picked up my fork. 

“Oh leave her alone,” Dennis finally piped up, a hand extended towards me and resting against the small of my back. “Vickers is just innocent - downright naive at times, but just innocent.” 

Nudging him with my elbow, I complained, “Not you too.” 

Giving me a teasing smile, Dennis finally changed the topic, beginning to question Luka about the new job he’d been offered and the conversation shifted. The teasing and childish laughter had faded and it was like we were actual grown-ups, settled for dinner and discussing which job offer had better career advancement prospects. 

Dennis, answering a question Abbey had about his work which he’d explained to me as being similar to working in a pharmacy, brushed a hand over the back of his head. It was a nervous tick, something I’d noticed - Dennis had grown into a man who was reluctant to share too many details. It was something I wanted to talk to him about and maybe I would, eventually. Instead, I just reached out, smoothing out the hair that was now sticking up and adjusting the collar of his shirt. At the feel of my touch, Dennis’s words trailed off softly, like he’d lost his train of thought before he cleared his throat and finished his half articulated sentiment. 

There was a soft call of my name, one that had me retreating my hand like I’d been caught doing something bad. Shifting my eyes back to Abbey, I met her gaze and realised they were shifting contemplatively between the pair of us. 

“Why did the pair of you never get together?” Her question, so random and abrupt, cut the flow of the conversation. Even Luka, who wasn’t known for his tact, shifted in his seat to give her a pointed look. 

“I - what are you talking about?” I asked, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. My ears, thankfully hidden out of sight by my hair, burned as I eyed Dennis from the corner of my eye. I wanted him to say something because I certainly didn’t have the ability to formulate more than a single sentence in response. 

“Don’t start this again,” Dennis said simply, rolling his eyes. He reached out an arm, draping it over the back of my chair and offering our friends a smile even as his hand found the back of my neck, massaging it softly like he knew I was too mortified for words. “Anyway, what’s this Luka was saying about a labradoodle?” 

* * *

On the rare occasions where both Dennis and I had managed to get the weekend off and we could be coaxed out of the flat, we found ourselves dragged to the nearest club. Sometimes, we found ourselves there against our will. Our friends, claiming that we were wasting away our youth, sometimes refused to listen to our protests and I found myself corralled into my room with Abbey who somehow always managed to foist me into a dress I was surprised I even owned. 

Despite all my protests, I always wound up enjoying my night. I couldn’t dispute that. Abbey always claimed I would enjoy myself and she was always right. But, I never pointed out to her that I always enjoyed myself because Dennis and I usually kept well too ourselves. It was another thing that made us so similar - so perfect as roommates - sometimes, when I looked at him, it felt like I was looking right into a mirror. 

“How did she convince you this time?” Dennis asked as he did each time. His head lowered towards my ear, asked the question as we made our way past the bouncer. 

“I think less words were used and more force this time,” I said simply, extending a hand out behind me. 

Like he always did, Dennis clasped his warm hand around my own. He held on tight and let me pull him through the crowd as if I was capable of leading him. As if he wasn’t the one standing taller and with a clearer view of the crowd. When the silence between us extended, I peered back over my shoulder to find him watching me with furrowed brows. Even under the dark and fluorescent lighting of the club, I could see his concern. 

“What’s the matter with you, Creevey?”

Wordlessly, he tugged on my hand, making me stumble on my already unsteady heeled feet and drawing me towards him. Surprised at finding myself so close to him, I offered him an awkward smile, even when he continued to search my eyes. 

“If you want to head home, all you have to do is tell me,” he insisted, speaking slowly.

“I don’t want to let Abbey down -”

“She’s already losing herself in Luka’s mouth,” Dennis said dismissively. “The moment you want to go home, let me know.”

“You don’t have to worry so much.” Joining my free hand to cradle his hand between my own, I tugged him after me towards the bar. “Come on, let’s go for a drink before I start feeling the pain from these shoes.” 

“Be warned, I’m not carrying you back,” he said as if each of these nights out _hadn’t_ ended up with him piggybacking me back to our flat because the pain was just too much for me to walk a single step.

Instead of answering him, I just gave him a knowing look and tugged him through the throng of already half intoxicated people. Dennis held on steady, letting me manoeuvre him easily to the bar and when we finally settled onto two stools, he crossed his arms and pressed them to the counter. Turning his head expectantly towards me, he raised a silent eyebrow when I threw him a mischievous smile. 

“That looks spells trouble.” He shook his head with a chuckle before amending, “Well, a hangover, really.”

“At least you know it.” When he gave a despairing sigh - one that was faked, I was sure - I took the opportunity to signal over the bartender. “Can we get some tequila shots?”

“You’re insane.” Shaking his head, Dennis reached for his wallet and paid for the first round even as he complained, “You’re going to get drunk _so_ quickly.”

“Oh, calm down lightweight.”

“Says the person with the lower tolerance.” When the bartender placed our shots in front of us, Dennis apprehensively held up the small glass, staring at it like it was some sort of poison, “I am _so_ going to end up carrying you home.” 

Nudging him teasingly with my shoulder, I reached for the salt and took the first shot. The alcohol, always my liquid adrenaline, had my inhibitions lowering and before I even realised it, I was ordering another. And another. And another. And before I could order a fifth, Dennis’s hand, warm and soft - had it always been so soft? - was there, catching my chin and turning my face towards his. My last, rational thought was of his eyes and then, everything blurred as I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and tugged him the rest of the distance towards me. 

* * *

Someone had forgotten to close the curtains. 

Someone had forgotten to close the curtains and now the sunlight was streaming into the room and falling directly onto my face. Even with my eyes closed, it was too bright and was giving me the most horrendous headache. Like always, alcohol was clearly my kryptonite. 

Groaning under my breath, I turned away from the window and rolled over onto my other side all whilst my eyes were still closed. Better, it was much better. I contented myself with trying to sleep for a little longer, just until I had enough energy to set about trying to relieve my hangover. Only, all ability to fall asleep was stripped away from me when something tightened around my waist, drawing me closer to a source of heat. I realised with dawning horror that it was an arm, it could only be an arm. An arm that I could feel all too clearly against my _bare skin._

Oh - my - fucking - god. 

Taking in a deep breath, I opened my eyes slowly, pushing through my hangover to get a good look at the man who was occupying my bed - was this even my bed? All thoughts about location flew away the moment I realised just _who_ was lying naked with me and I knew, without a doubt, _why_ we were both lying naked. I took in a shaking breath, knowing I needed to leave this room - Dennis’s room, I realised - before he woke up. God, I needed to get out of here before he woke up and saw me and put two and two together. 

It was too late. Much too late. 

Dennis’s eyes, heavy with sleep, opened and stared right into my own. It took him longer than it had taken me to realise what had happened and yet, the only outward change to his expression was a widening of his eyes. Eyes that no longer looked so sleep filled. He didn’t move. Not even to remove his arm from around my waist or even to push further away from me so I wasn’t cradled so securely against the solid warmth of his chest. 

“We need some time to think,” I said eventually, breaking the still silence of the room and speaking through a parched throat. Scrambling for the duvet, I gathered it against my chest and shuffled back from him, putting some distance between us. Dennis still didn’t move. Not even to clutch at the duvet to ensure that it didn’t slip past his waist. I hurriedly averted my eyes, looking to his bare walls. “Just - just give me a minute to gather my clothes and -”

Not bothering to finish my sentence, I sat on the edge of the bed with Dennis’s duvet wrapped around me like a cocoon. Searching the floor around me, my cheeks coloured with mortification as I realised that my clothes were scattered all around the room. The nearest object of clothing to me was the shirt that Dennis had been wearing last night. Reaching out with my leg, I clasped the material and dragged it towards me. Picking it up, I hurriedly slipped it over my head and to my relief, it covered all the areas it needed to carry.

Unravelling myself from the duvet cocoon, I threw it back towards a _still_ silent Dennis to use. Moving quickly around the room and all too conscious of eyes on me, I gathered my clothes from last night in a heap in my arms. Finally reaching the doorway, I turned cautiously to face Dennis who was now leaning against the headboard, appearing the picture of ease. But I knew better, he was likely freaking out on the inside and just not showing it because it would freak _me_ out. 

Still, he continued to watch me and I had to say something to get through the suffocating tension of the room. “You’ll get your shirt back.”

Walking quickly out of the room, I practically ran back to mine. Throwing last night’s clothes into the laundry basket, I finally let myself freak out. Grabbing my pillow, I smothered my face into it and let out a long shriek. How had I made such a big mistake?

Finally lifting my head from the pillow, I took deep breaths until I calmed down. Later - I could think about all this later. Right now, I didn’t even dare look in the mirror until I’d taken a shower. Gathering everything I needed, I took perhaps the quickest shower of my life because I didn’t want to run into Dennis. Stepping out of the shower and into the steam-filled room, I wrapped my bathrobe around me. 

I needed to get changed quickly so I could leave quickly, and yet, my eyes flickered towards the fogged-up mirror. Clearing it with the sleeve of my robe, I stared back at my reflection and hesitantly peeled back the opening of my bathrobe. Stretching my neck this way and that, I carefully catalogued the love bites that littered the column of my throat and drifted down further, past my collarbones. Tracing them with soft fingers, I breathed out shakily at the vague flashes of last night that filled my mind. Hurriedly dropping my hand, I cradled the cool marble of the counter and forced the memories to leave my mind. 

The most important thing right now was to get dressed. There was no point in focusing on fragments of last night and certainly, no good would come from lingering on the way I’d felt last night. Even if I couldn’t remember it all, I still remembered the feeling, the emotion. I’d never felt so … cherished during the act and I’d certainly never felt like it was right. Even if it was so very, _very_ wrong. God, I needed to get my head on straight. 

Finally getting dressed, I hurried out of the bathroom, planning on running back to my room and hiding out in there. My plans all failed. Dennis, who stood in the entrance of the kitchen with a mug of something cradled in his hands, was looking down the hallway like he was watching the bathroom door. Startled and caught in his eyes, I stood still, uncertain of what to do. 

“I made coffee,” he said simply, raising his mug.

Left without the words to turn down his offer, I walked towards him and reached for the mug in his hand. Dennis held it out of the way. With his head, he gestured for me to head into the dining room and slowly, I did. There was already a steaming mug waiting for me. I was hesitant to accept it. Accepting that mug would mean having to sit at the table like he so clearly wanted. All I wanted was for us to move on past last night and if I took the mug and ran away, it would make things worse. 

Swallowing thickly and steeling my nerve, I walked to the dining table and took my seat. Cradling the hot mug between two hands, I took a small sip and looked up to find Dennis sitting across from me. He’d yet to properly wash or change. Instead, he sat across from me, dressed in just boxers and it was a sight I was used to seeing in the morning. What I _wasn’t_ used to seeing was the beginning of scratch marks along his shoulders and I _knew_ from memory alone that those scratch marks would trail down his back. 

_Oh, God._

Closing my eyes in mortification, I contemplated banging my head against the table. Dennis called my name and only then did I open my eyes, expecting him to speak. He didn’t. Not at first. We just kept looking at each other, none of us knows how to begin. 

“I think it’s safe to say we both had too much to drink last night,” he started before taking a long sip of his own coffee. “Let’s not beat around the bush, we both know what happened last night.”

“... We do.” 

Dennis nodded to himself as if satisfied that I hadn’t played dumb. “We know what happened, but I can’t remember it.”

“You can’t remember it?” I repeated, uncertain of how that made me feel. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to remember it or not. And if he couldn’t remember it, then surely it wasn’t as big of a deal to him as it for some reason was to me. Maybe it hadn’t been so strangely _right_ for him. 

Holding my eyes, Dennis assured me softly, “I can’t. You?”

“I can’t remember either.” Offering him a tentative smile, I suggested, “It should be easy to put it all behind us, right?”

“It should be.” He spoke softly, rising from his chair and gesturing down the hallway. “At least things shouldn’t be so awkward. I’m just going to shower and then we can continue with our plans for the day?”

Dennis continued to watch me expectantly and I just nodded, unable to do anything else. “Sure.” 

* * *

It took time, but we returned to normal. In fact, it took such little time, little more than a week, that I couldn’t help but wonder if our … one night dalliance had been a figment of my imagination. Except of course it wasn’t. The only other explanation was disheartening - but it could have meant nothing to him. It could have been a simple one night stand with Dennis and maybe I was the only one who sometimes found themselves in bed at night with the memory of phantom fingers brushing across my skin or a hand reaching up to entwine our fingers together. 

Regardless, we were back to normal, as normal we could be. And now, nearly two months on, and we had settled into our daily routine. It would remain as a distant memory. A distant call of my name brought me from my thoughts just in time to find a new stack of paperwork placed on the end of my desk. There was no time to be getting lost in my thoughts. Not when there was so much I still needed to get done today. 

Picking the first document from the top of the pile, I realised it was a request from the team leader, asking for me to look over the work schedules of our team and to arrange a meeting on a day that everyone was free. Using the computer to compare work schedules, I found a few options and sent out a mass email. Double checking that it had sent, I reached for the calendar I kept on my desk and made sure to note down the meeting. Satisfied, I moved to set the calendar down, only to freeze.

Heart leaping to my throat, my eyes lingered on today’s date. Or rather, on the red circle I’d drawn around today’s date. Holding my breath, I looked back and realised that the past three days were all marked in the same way. Flipping the page back onto last month, I realised that none of the red circles were filled in as they should be. 

There was no way - 

There was absolutely _no way_

… and yet, when I counted back the days in my head to the last time I’d had my period, it was almost two months ago. How had I missed it? Sure, there were times when my period was late and it wasn’t the most regular visitor at the best of times, but it had never been _this_ late. 

“Vickers!” the call of my name forcefully brought me from my thoughts to see my supervisor standing a short distance away from me. “How about we focus on your work?”

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologised hurriedly, putting my calendar aside and reaching for my workload. I would have to forget about it for now, just until the end of the day. And yet, despite knowing this, it continued to linger in my mind. 

When the workday finally, _finally_ came to an end, I hurried back home with anxious steps to the bus stop. The entire bus journey, usually only 10 minutes long, felt like it took an entire hour and when my stop arrived, I hurried off and rushed into the corner shop. Finding the pregnancy test, I was quick to pay for it and shove it into my bag. Walking the remaining distance to my home, I walked inside with one less worry - at least Dennis would be at work for a little longer. Thankfully, with the flat empty, I abandoned my coat and scarf in the front room. Picking up the test, I rushed into the bathroom. 

Once I’d used the test, I clutched it in my hand, my thumb covering the window where the result would be displayed. Sitting on the closed toilet cover, I anxiously drummed my tight covered feet against the bathroom floor. Head bowed and eyes closed, I pleaded over and over for a negative result.

“Please, please,” my desperation had me actually whispering under my breath. 

Distantly my phone rang, letting me know that my time was up. Drawing in a deep breath, I held it even as my lungs burned. Slowly, at a snail’s pace, I removed my thumb to get a good look at the result. Gasping, I sighed heavily and dropped my head once more.

Positive. 

_Shit._ So much for forgetting it had ever happened. 

I was deprived of the opportunity to panic like I really wanted to at the sound of the keys rattling in the lock of the front door. In all my worrying, I hadn’t even thought about Dennis, about having to tell Dennis. Maybe I could hide in here? Just until I’d come up with some sort of speech? 

“Are you here?” I heard Dennis call out from somewhere further in the flat. “You never leave your coat in the front room?”

Right - it was time to pull up my big girl pants and be an adult. I’d _have_ to be an adult about this. 

Opening the bathroom door, I rested against the doorframe for support. Clutching the test in both hands, I held it safely behind my back. “I’m here, Dennis.”

Following the sound of my work, he found me standing in the doorway and offered me his typical warm smile. Standing a short distance away from me and still wearing his coat, he asked, “How was your day?”

“Surprising,” I managed faintly, thinking it was the biggest understatement I could have managed. 

“Surprising?” His eyes searched my face then and I knew, from the brief peek I’d taken in the mirror, that I’d gone pale. Paler than I thought was possible. “Is something wrong? Did something happen at work?” 

When Dennis moved to approach me, I took that as a much-needed sign. Thrusting out the test, I held it in front of me and the sight of it was enough to have him stilling. Although, from his frown and tilted head, I knew he wasn’t sure _what_ I was holding. Shaking the test again, I widened my eyes at Dennis and he finally accepted the test. He took it with gentle hands, peeking down at it and at the result and at last, he knew what it was, what I was trying to tell him. 

His mouth dropped open in surprise before he caught himself. Closing his mouth, Dennis lifted his head to meet my eyes even as his second hand came up to cradle the test like it was the most important piece of plastic in his life. And perhaps it was - it would be. 

“What the hell are we going to do?” I asked, hoping he would tell me what to do. Or even just tell me how this had happened? Although, now that I’d thought about it, I couldn’t remember using any form of contraception. Regardless of how drunk I’d been, how could I have - 

Without a word, Dennis closed the space between us and took me in his arms. In a heartbeat, I wrapped my arms tight around him, physically clinging to him and using the strength of his body to root me to this moment and to keep me up. Burrowing my nose against his shoulder, I breathed in his comforting scent. In the short space of half a day, he’d gone from being my best friend and roommate to being my best friend, roommate _and_ the father of my child. I was going to have a _child_ \- 

Calling my name softly, he brought me from my rapidly spiralling thoughts and gently patted my back. Pressing a kiss to my temple, he spoke by my ear, “We’ll work through this.” 

* * *

The waiting room of the doctor’s office was crowded, with almost every seat occupied by a snotty child, a coughing adult or someone who seemingly had nothing outwardly wrong with them. What would the other nosy occupants of the room think when they looked at me? They’d see a woman in her early teens, with no outward signs of illness perhaps apart from her legs that continued to bounce anxiously up and down. Did I look like an expectant mother? What did an expectant mother, one without a bump, look like anyway? I was certain she didn’t look like the nervous wreck that I knew I was right now. 

A hand, warm and steadying, settled on my knee and instantly brought my knees to a halt. Shifting in my seat to get a look at Dennis, I locked eyes with him and couldn’t help but think that he didn’t look like an expectant father either. Perhaps people only looked like expectant parents when they’d _planned_ to have a child and God knew that we certainly hadn’t planned to have a child. We weren’t even together, we’d both decided to have this child whilst being friends because we didn’t have to initiate a romantic relationship to parent a child. We could be friends as well as parents. And didn’t everyone say that it was good to have a child with your best friend? Of course - those sorts of people always prefaced it with marrying your best friend and - 

“I can practically _hear_ your brain spiralling,” Dennis said softly as he leaned forward in the uncomfortable chair. I remained where I was, even as he drew closer to rest his forehead lightly against my temple. Briefly, I allowed my eyes to flicker shut and used the contact to steady myself. It was like being here, in the doctor’s office and waiting for my first appointment had made everything so much worse. All I could think of was the possibility that the test had been wrong and the worst part was, I had no idea whether I’d be happy to find that out or not. 

Breathing out softly, I put my hand on top of Dennis’s and wound our fingers together. “Tell me the truth; is this stupid? Is what we’re planning on doing mad?”

Straightening out, Dennis agreed instantly, “Oh, definitely.” When I cast him a cautious glance, he offered me a smile, “We’re definitely mad, but it doesn’t have to be a bad type of madness.”

Just as I went to ask him what other types of madness there could possibly be, the receptionist called out my name. Dennis, the first of us to stand, looked expectantly down at me when I continued to sit on the chair. It was like my butt was glued to the uncomfortable cushion of the chair. He held out a hand to me and I took it without pause. I let Dennis ease me to my feet and then when I was standing, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, drawing me into his side. Reaching behind him to fist my hand in the back of his coat, I matched each of his steps as we walked into the doctor’s office. 

Reaching the wooden door, Dennis raised a fist and knocked. We waited to hear a ‘come in’ before heading inside. The elderly doctor greeted us with a smile, eyes appraising me from behind round glasses. Doctor Ruben spoke at last, “What seems to be the problem today?”

Taking a seat, I blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.” His eyes flickered back to his computer and I clutched my hands in my lap, wondering if he was judging me - a young mother, barely out of her teenage years and unmarried. Was he one of those doctors? His eyes flickered back towards me with a reassuring nod that had some of the tension fading out of me, “So, no problem then?”

“No,” Dennis spoke up, voice firm as he covered my hands with one of his. “No problem. We’ve come in to have the result confirmed.”

“Of course, at-home tests can be faulty.” Finally standing from his desk, the doctor picked up a urine sample pot and held it out towards me. “We’ll need a sample from mum and then we can send it off to the lab. Off you pop, there’s a toilet at the end of the hall. I’ll stay here with dad.”

It was like I was on autopilot. I accepted the pot and left Dennis behind in the office as I walked into the toilet. Collecting the sample and washing my hand, I took longer than necessary to dry my hands. Mum. He’d referred to me as Mum. It was stupid and it was downright foolish but some part of me had been warmed by the label. It had even felt like it fit me already. 

Dismissing the ridiculous thought from my mind, I returned to the doctor’s office and found Dennis sitting with a handful of brochures in his hands as he nodded along to whatever the doctor was telling him. The conversation came to a natural pause as I entered the room and when I returned the sample, it was bagged and labelled.

“Alright, this will be sent off to the lab and we’ll have the results within a couple of days,” Doctor Ruben set it aside, holding my eyes as he spoke. “We’ll be in contact to let you know the results but should you not hear from us, feel free to call the practice.”

“Thank you, Doctor Ruben.” 

Turning expectantly to Dennis, I listened as he repeated the sentiment and then we were walking out of the doctor’s office. Now that I’d seen the doctor, something about this felt all the more real. I wasn’t even sure I needed the results from the test. I was pretty certain that I was pregnant. When the door closed behind us, I plucked one of the brochures out of his hand, studying the title ‘What to expect when your partner is expecting’.

“Are these all about pregnancy?” I asked dubiously, considering the large number of pamphlets he held. 

“Given our young age, Dr Ruben thought it best that we were as educated as possible.” I could hear Dennis rolling his eyes and it brought a smile to my face that left quickly enough when he called out with blatant surprise, “Mum? Dad?”

My feet ground to a halt as I regarded the older couple who were walking into the doctor’s surgery. Mr and Mrs Creevey, clearly just as surprised to see us, greeted us hurriedly. 

“What are you doing here?” Dennis asked, and I wondered if his parents could hear the concern tainting his every word. 

“I’m just here for my annual asthma review,” Mr Creevey explained, waving away his son’s concern. 

“It’s only a 10-minute appointment,” Mrs Creevey added on, linking her arm through her husbands and considering us with a smile. “What about you two? Why are you here?”

I looked at Dennis from the corner of my eye; we’d both agreed that it was too early, that we’d rather wait until we were certain that I was actually pregnant before involving our parents. The short silence was clearly too much for Mrs Creevey whose eyes flickered to the brochure in her son’s arms and then towards me with wide eyes. 

“Are you-” she cut herself off, stepping forward to speak in a lowered voice, “Are you pregnant, dear?”

“I - I came in to do a test, but I’m fairly certain,” I admitted truthfully. 

Mrs Creevey’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she drew back from me, straightening up and looking to her husband who looked rather unconcerned about the entire matter. Finally looking back to me, she spoke faintly, “I, wow, I wasn’t aware that you were seeing anyone.”

“... I’m not.”

Watching me with maternal disapproval, I just _knew_ she was holding back a sigh. “Then the father, do you know who -”

“I am.” Dennis’s voice cut through our whispered conversation, finally bringing life to his father’s face. His parents both looked at their son with mouths parted in shock. “It’s my baby.”

“You -” Mr Creevey stumbled over his own tongue before managing, “But you’re not together? Well, what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?” I asked hesitantly, clinging to Dennis’s hand when it curled protectively around my own. 

“What do we mean?” Mrs Creevey asked incredulously, “Are you going to get married? Or -”

“We’re going to raise this baby together,” Dennis said smoothly, turning his body as if preparing to leave. I was all too ready to follow his lead. “We’re not planning on changing the relationship we have now. You should head in or you’ll miss your appointment, we can talk about this later.”

“ _Later?”_

“Later,” he confirmed over his mother’s incredulous squeak. “Dr Ruben said stress isn’t good for her so I’m going to take her home now.” He tugged on my hand, “Come on Vickers.”

Saying goodbye to the Creevey’s, I easily dropped into step beside Dennis as we walked out the doctor’s surgery and into the street. Drawing in a deep lungful of air, I blew it out steadily. 

“So much for not telling them so soon,” I despaired, knowing that if I didn’t phone my parents before this evening, the Creevey’s would have already shared the news with them. And my mother would _not_ appreciate hearing this from someone else. “You’re going to be there when I phone my parents later today, right?”

“Course I will be.” Lifting the hand he still held to his mouth, Dennis kissed it softly. Our joined hands lowered between us, swinging as we walked down the street. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.” 

* * *

Once what I’d already known had been confirmed, the strangest sense of calm settled over me. It wasn’t like I was nervous, I was still downright terrified and yet, I was also happy and more than a little excited to meet the little person I was busy making inside of me. The changes to my body were a bit daunting at first but I’d long since accepted that the new stretchmarks I’d acquired were just a norm now, they were proof of the changes that I was going through. Our parents had eventually come around, after realising that we would not be strong-armed into forming a romantic relationship or even into getting married. As for the state of my relationship with Dennis, it only seemed to strengthen upon strength with each passing week. There really was no one else I’d rather have been doing this with. 

I was certain that no one else would bolt out of bed at my tentative knock on his bedroom door at 2 am in the morning because of my latest craving. No one else would take time out of their day to make sure that I was alright, not the way Dennis did. Over the course of my pregnancy, I’d realised that people tended to see you as one large incubator. All questions revolved around the baby or about the pregnancy as if people believed it was all you could talk about. It was not. And I knew it would only get worse once the baby arrived. All the mummy blogs I’d read informed me that mum tended to slip through the cracks with all the attention on the new baby. But, not with Dennis. He was the only person who consistently checked on me first and went out of his way to talk about the things we did before I’d become pregnant. Sometimes, if I was really tired, I could actually forget that I was pregnant before our baby kicked out at being ignored for so long. 

With the impending arrival of our baby, Dennis and I had caved to parental pressure regarding one thing - we’d moved out. Our old apartment, only two bedroomed, was far too small to welcome a new baby especially when there was no room for a crib. And of course, we’d both delved into an _intense_ conversation (because Dennis refused to call it an argument) about having the crib in only one room with Dennis finding it majorly unfair that I’d naturally assumed the crib would be in my room. We decided to keep the peace and moved out, finding a three-bedroomed apartment not too far from our old one. Upon moving in, the first thing we did was set up the nursery which was nestled between _both_ of our rooms. It wasn’t the change our parents had been after, but it was one that worked for us and that was all that mattered. 

The flat, apart from having an extra room, was also larger and already felt homier, even though we’d officially been moved in for less than a week. Settled comfortably in my corner of the sofa, in the only position that my baby didn’t feel the need to protest against my kicking my internal organs, I changed the channel on the TV. Realising there were adverts on every channel, I surveyed the front room and absentmindedly reached down to scratch a sleeping Shadow’s head. Dennis had done the moving, refusing to let me help, and instead had recruited our fathers and Luka. Together, the four men had moved us in quickly, in a single afternoon where I’d found myself apprehended by our mothers. They’d done a good job, but there were still a few missing touches that I’d want to make. Maybe when Dennis came home from work I’d ask him to move the lamp from one side of the room to the other? Now, did I do that before or after I asked him to confirm what Abbey had told me? 

The topic, one that only seemed to sadden me the more I thought about it, had me sighing and shaking my outstretched legs as the front door opened. Well, it seemed I didn’t have the time to think about it after all. Checking the time, I looked towards the door leading to the hallway that Dennis would soon be walking in through. 

“You’re home early, aren’t you?” I called out when I finally spied him.

“I told the boss I needed to get home to my girl,” he said simply, kicking off his shoes and putting them on the shoe rack. “Did you get to the last chapter of the book? Can we talk about it now?”

Shamefully, I admitted, “I fell asleep before I could read it.”

“Make sure you read it because I _need_ to talk to you about that plot twist.” Then, standing in the doorway, he offered me a grin before taking a running leap and landing on the sofa next to me. Before I could move away, he caught my legs, draping them over his lap and massaging away the ache of my calves. “Your legs still hurting?”

I nodded, watching his hands as they finally brought me some relief, “Even though I’ve done nothing all day.”

“I wouldn’t call growing another human doing _nothing_.” He only laughed in response to the face I made. “Anyway, I talked to mum and she said that applying heat might help. It helped her. Do you want me to warm the hot water bottle for you?”

My eyes lingered on his face, cataloguing each of his features. Could I ask him? Realising he was still watching me expectantly, I said, “Not right now. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’ll eat later, it’s bonding time right now.” And then, he was reaching out one hand, rubbing it over the large swell of my stomach in the hopes of coaxing out a kick. His attention now focused on my stomach, gave me the time to study him properly. How different would this have been if we were different? If we were something more? “What’s up with you Vickers, you’re burning a hole into the side of my face.” 

“Abbey told me something,” I said before I could stop myself. So I really was going to talk about this then. When I said nothing, he nodded as if to encourage me to speak, even as his eyes traced the phantom patterns his fingers were tracing. “Remember that time you took her to help you pick the right sort of bubble bath? She mentioned that the sales assistant asked you out and you said no?”

His hand stilled as Dennis lifted his head. Holding my eyes, he asked, “And?”

“And,” swallowing thickly, I said hesitantly, “I don’t want you turning down dates because of … this. You haven’t gone on a single date during this whole pregnancy and I don’t want you thinking that you can’t date.” 

Scoffing, he teased, “How selfless do you think I am? If I really wanted to go on that date, I would’ve.” When I continued to eye him dubiously, he insisted, “Really, that’s it. Is this really what you’ve been doing whilst you’re home alone? Worrying about me?” 

“Dennis-”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about me.” The teasing tone fled his voice as he continued to look at me resolutely. “I mean it.”

“Ok.”

“Good.” 

Now that he was content, he returned once more to play with my stomach. Eventually, there was a kick right against the palm of his hand and the grin that took over his face was beautiful. It brought a smile to my face, even as my worries continued to plague my mind. My eyes refused to leave Dennis’s face whilst my traitorous mind wondered once more what it would be like to be doing this with him in the more traditional way. It was a bittersweet daydream. 

* * *

My appetite, with each passing month, only seemed to grow and grow until I felt like I was spending more time eating than not. I’d attempted, at first, to restrict how much extra food I ate because I was conscious of the amount of weight I was putting on that couldn’t be attributed to the person growing up inside me. But, my self-restraint was the weakest it had ever been in my life and I caved after not even three days of depriving myself of eating everything I was craving. Dennis, who’d watched my struggles with amusement, constantly attempted to coax me into giving in. And when I eventually _did_ give in and accepted a vanilla sundae Dennis had set in front of me, he’d laughed but kept the comments to himself, simply dropping a kiss to the top of my head before joining me with his own sundae. 

And yet now, as I continued to lie awake in the middle of the night, my mind was replaying all the things I’d eaten today. I’d even eaten less than an hour before going to bed and yet here I was, craving vanilla ice cream smothered in caramel sauce and as much chocolate chips as I could possibly fit into the bowl. Dr Ruben had urged me to exercise self-restraint, warning me that sometimes women could develop diabetes during their pregnancy. He’d insisted it was a very few women and yet, it had worried me enough for me to comply. Except, had I really complied if I was sitting here battling against my own cravings? 

I’d been through this so many times, I had spent countless nights lying awake in this very situation that I knew how this would end. I certainly knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep without eating something. Even if I didn’t have the ice cream that I wanted. 

With a long sigh, I stifled a groan as I struggled to sit up. It took a lot of effort, as much effort as it took to do much of anything right now, and I sat on the edge of my mattress. My nightshirt had ridden up, uncovering the lower part of my stomach and I pulled it down again. 

“I don’t appreciate these cravings,” I whispered to my stomach before standing and reaching for my nightgown. Putting it on, I didn’t even bother to tie it as I walked out of my room and towards the kitchen. 

Turning on the kitchen light, I paused, peeking around into the hallway and listening out for Dennis. He always had the strangest knack of waking up at the slightest of sounds. When there was no sign of him, I continued onto the freezer and opened it, searched through the trays until I found the tub of vanilla ice cream. Setting it down on the counter, I reached for the cupboard, leaning up onto my toes and straining for a bowl. 

A pressure, dull and large, followed by a _gush_ of fluid down my legs, had me stilling as a finger of dread trailed down my spine. Lowering my heels back to the floor, I pushed aside all thoughts about the ice cream and drew in a shaking breath. This was _not_ the time to panic.

It was not the time to panic and yet when I called out “Dennis!” my voice warbled. Clutching at the counter, I listened out for rapidly approaching footsteps as a half-asleep Dennis came into view. He wildly searched the kitchen as if looking for some threat before his eyes settled on me. Upon seeing me not physically harmed, his shoulders dropped and he let out a relieved breath, reaching behind him and tucking something into his back pocket.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, walking into the kitchen and coming to a stop when I held out a hand to stop him from coming any closer. I didn’t want him stepping into the puddle of amniotic fluid that was covering the space around me. 

“Remember how I told you I was having Braxton Hicks contractions?” I started, surprised that even to my ears, my voice sounded steady. Even if I was freaking out on the inside and was terrified of the pain that was going to follow, I wasn’t outwardly showing my anxiety. 

“Yeah?”

“Well,” I shuffled on my feet, wondering if there was enough time for me to get changed out of my pyjama trousers, “I think they might have been real contractions.”

“Real?” He repeated incredulously, the last of his sleep finally leaving him as his mind caught up. Once more he was approaching me, ignoring my warnings until he came across the amniotic fluid and stopped. Running a ragged hand through his hair, Dennis spoke quickly, “Right, can you walk? Let me just grab the baby bag and the papers they said we needed to take along and-”

Surprised at seeing him panicked for probably the first time ever, I reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Dennis, listen to me, you grab the bag and stuff and I’m going to change out of these trousers.”

“Do we have the time?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I said confidently, even though I had no idea. “If you’re ready before I am, grab the ice cream tub and a spoon.”

Letting go of Dennis’s arm, I walked around him and headed to my bedroom even as Dennis questioned my rationale. Making it to my room, I was quick to change out of my ruined bottoms, well as quick as I could be. It was still a struggle to bend over enough to put my legs in through the holes and I even had to pause to breathe through a couple of contractions that definitely _weren’t_ Braxton Hicks. 

Once I was finished, I listened out for Dennis who I could hear moving around and gathering whatever else he thought we needed. Leaving my room and grabbing my phone on the way out, I texted our parents to let them know that we were on our way to the hospital. I walked slowly through the hallway, planning on meeting Dennis by the door when my feet stopped in front of the nursery. It had been done up, just last weekend by Dennis and our fathers in preparation for a baby that wasn’t supposed to arrive for some time yet. And here we were. 

Standing in the open doorway, I peeked into the nursery and let my eyes rove over the furniture of the room. In all my haste, I hadn’t even thought about how I was having this baby premature. I’d read the material, as much material as I possibly could, and was more than well informed about the health complications that premature babies could go through. And part of me, some small part of me, wondered if it wasn’t my fault if I hadn’t done something to trigger my early labour. 

A hand, comforting and gentle, took my own and brought me from my thoughts. Looking to Dennis with surprise, I offered him a hesitant smile that I knew he could see right through. 

“Are you ready to go?” he asked softly and when I nodded, he couldn’t help but frown. “What’s wrong?” 

Hesitantly, I watched Dennis, wondering if I should tell him the truth. What could be the point of lying to him right before we were getting ready to go through one of the biggest, if not the biggest, events of our lives? So I didn’t lie. “I’m scared.” 

“So am I.” He squeezed my hand, lowering his head so he could hold my eyes. “It’s alright to be scared because I’m scared out of my bloody mind.”

“Ok.”

“Ok?” When I nodded again, this time squeezing his hand, he smiled softly. “Alright then, let’s go.” 

* * *

When people told you that giving birth was difficult and painful, it was a major understatement. It was the most painful thing I had ever gone through and given my low pain tolerance, it was so much worse. But, the moment I first got to hold our son, all the pain faded, I almost forgot about it altogether. That - forgetting about the labour pain upon holding your child - was something I thought my mum was lying about. In the end, she had been right. 

Our son, after he’d been cleaned and properly nursed had been taken away so that he could rest in an incubator in order for him to gather his strength. The midwife had assured me, and Dennis who remained right by my side through it all, that he seemed fine and that he was going to be under monitoring strictly because he was premature. And despite him having been alive for less than an hour, I was sad to see him go. It was so obvious that I’d wanted him to remain for longer, that Dennis just wrapped an arm around my shoulder and settled on the bed to hold me close. 

After some time, our midwife returned and assured me that I would be allowed to visit our son - who I was leaning towards naming after Dennis’s brother, but I would have to discuss that with him later. I would be able to see him after I’d rested up for a bit and had a shower. My desire to see our son was more than enough to motivate me to leave the bed, even when I felt like lying down for a little longer. 

“You can rest up,” Dennis said from beside me, even when he clasped our hands together to help me stand. “We can go later.”

“I’m sure I reek of sweat,” I insisted, perching on the edge of the bed. I didn’t hop off, not yet. Instead, I looked at Dennis’s hand wrapped around my own and winced at the marks from where I’d dug my nails into it. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I was doing that to you.” 

“You had bigger priorities,” he assured with an amused laugh. 

“Come on Creevey, help me down.”

Dennis complied, helping me from the bed and reaching for my wash bag from the larger hospital bag we’d brought with us. When he helped me towards the bathroom, Dennis lingered on the outside, promising to keep guard as if someone would walk in and I hesitated. How was I going to tell him that I needed help with my dressing gown because I was still a bit weak? Maybe it was because of the labour but I didn’t feel the least bit bashful - he’d already seen me birth a human so what was the point in feeling shy? 

Reaching out for his hand, I tugged him in after me, insisting I needed his help. Dennis complied, even as his face reddened. As I washed up, Dennis spent most of the time facing the wall and when I asked him to pass a towel, he did whilst keeping his eyes away from me. I stifled an endeared smile - we’d made a baby together, what was there for him to be so shy about? Although, now that I thought about it if I didn’t have all these hormones running through me, I probably would have been the same. 

Towelling myself dry, I prepared to change into fresh clothes when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Ignoring the call of my name from behind me, I studied the change of my stomach, tracing the prominent lines and marvelling at how different it felt. A hand, larger than my own, covered my hand and I started, turning back in surprise to find Dennis standing behind me. 

He brought his second hand around to join the first until they were both resting palm down on my stomach. Dropping a lingering kiss to my forehead, he said softly, “Good job, I never told you that, did I? 

“It was nothing.” 

“It was everything,” he corrected, squeezing his arms around me once before releasing me. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he said, “I’ll let you get changed, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Before I could say a thing, he slipped out of the bathroom, assuring me that he would be outside and listening out in case I needed him. I just nodded, looking at the door as it closed behind him. My traitorous mind wondered again, what it would be like to do this properly with him? 

Shaking my head, I finished getting changed and walked out to find Dennis waiting, leaning against the wall for me. Offering him a smile and not knowing what else to do, I gathered my hands in front of me, “Can we get to the NICU?”

“Are you not tired?” he asked and when I shook my head, he offered me his hand. I accepted it and let him begin to slowly lead me out of the hospital room and in the direction of the NICU. “When we get there, the midwives are going to give us a quick talk about what we can and can’t do.” 

I nodded, too preoccupied with thoughts of seeing my son again. When we reached the ward, the matron spoke to us for a short while before ushering us inside. Each of my steps were slow and measured, even as the anticipation grew inside me. I could hardly wait. 

When we finally, _finally_ reached the incubator, I hurried towards the small machine and rested my hands against the cool glass, staring down at our baby. He was _so little_ , far too small to have wires going into his body the way he did. But, he looked so peaceful, sleeping away and even smiling a little. Over these important months, I’d become so much more endeared to Dennis, so much more than I’d ever allowed myself to admit, that I hadn’t thought it possible to love anyone more. And yet I did. This little person, lying so peacefully and so entirely dependent on my care, was already the centre of my world. 

“Can I admit something?” I asked softly, feeling Dennis coming up behind me. He mirrored me, his arms coming around me on either side to rest his palms flat against the glass incubator as well. 

“Go on,” Dennis said, letting me rest against his chest. 

“I’m still scared.” Drawing in a breath, I admitted, “I think I might be even more scared now than I was before.”

He was silent and I almost wondered if he was judging me for being such a horrible mother already. But, he dropped a kiss to the top of my head, silencing my worries. “So am I.” 

There was another long silence that I filled with staring down at my son and watching the way his chest steadily rose and fell. If the midwife was right, he would be out of here soon and we could take him home. Our parents had already asked us about visiting, but if they saw him whilst he was in this incubator, they’d only worry. Maybe it would be better to wait until we were all back home?

“Can I admit something now?” 

Peeking at him over my shoulder, I searched his face, eyes lingering on the anxious way he was gnawing on his lower lip. “Of course you can.”

Dennis let out a deep breath, staring resolutely away from me. Brows furrowed, I was ready to ask him what was wrong, but he cut me off. “I remember it all.”

“... Dennis?”

He lowered his head to catch my eyes and this time he spoke, soft but resolute. His words were for my ears only. “I remember that night, every detail of it. It echoes in my head every now and then.”

“But I- ”

“Sometimes, I wanted to tell you but I worried about it. We’d agreed to have this baby as friends.” He took another pause and when he spoke next, he sounded bitter. “ _Just_ as friends.”

“Dennis.” Turning in his arms, I looked up into Dennis’s face. His arms were still around me, resting against the incubator that he was suddenly staring at, unable to look into my eyes. Only when I reached up to cradle his face did he finally look at me. Except, now that he was looking at me, I was unable to think of anything to say. What more was there for me to say when I could express it all differently. 

I leaned up quickly, kissing him - just a peck - because I was all too conscious of the staff around us. Drawing away just as swiftly, I bashfully searched his eyes, giggling when he leaned down to kiss me again. It seemed that he didn’t care too much about the other people in the room.

When he finally drew back, Dennis was chuckling incredulously. I asked, “What?”

“I’m planning on asking my best friend, that I’ve already slept with, that I’ve already had a child with to go on a date with me,” he said like it made little sense. And it didn’t make any sense at all. “And the strangest part is, I can’t even be sure she’s going to say yes.”

“You can be sure.”


	2. Epilogue: 2 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin, now two years old and an absolute _menace_ when he was running around, was giggling loudly.

_2 YEARS LATER_

Colin, now two years old and an absolute _menace_ when he was running around, was giggling loudly. Even now, as I walked down the stairs of the Creevey home, I could hear my son giggling so loudly that it was almost hysterical. The sound, as it always did, brought an instant smile to my face. That sound was always more than enough to ease whatever worries I’d had after returning from a stressful day of work. Even now, it was enough to make me forget about the continuous pestering I was facing in the form of his grandmother’s. It seemed, from the moment we’d brought Colin home, both our mother’s had kicked their pestering into overdrive. The now grandmothers wouldn’t rest until their grandson wasn’t a legal bastard. And unfortunately for me, that meant listening to their nagging.

Walking into the front room, my eyes went instantly towards Colin who was being chased around the room by Dennis who was trying to get him to put his coat on. He was aided in his evasion of his father by his grandfather’s who took turns acting like an unnecessary barrier that Dennis had to get through. My son didn’t even know that he was being humoured by the adult men. 

“What’s going on here?” I asked when Colin, upon spying me, dove behind me to hug my legs. Reaching behind me, I ruffled his fair hair, sharing a teasing wink with my husband who straightened to his full height and held Colin’s coat out in front of him. 

“Colin wants to head out into the garden,” Dennis started once more gesturing to my son who was hiding his giggles in my legs. “But he’s not putting his coat on.”

“Well then.” Squatting down so I could look my son in the eye, I gave him the _Mum look_ that always worked and Dennis always complained was an unfair advantage if I used it. “You know you’re not going to be able to go outside if you don’t put your coat on. It’s too cold outside. Are you going to listen to your dad now?”

Dennis crouched beside me, still holding onto Colin’s coat and Colin, who held his silence, looked between the pair of us, knowing neither of us would budge. He sighed exaggeratedly before consenting, “Ok.”

Finally able to get Colin into his coat, Dennis made sure to zip up the coat. When he was done, Dennis pinched Colin’s nose and sent him off to grab his shoes. He prepared to follow after our son, only to pause and insist, “You have to teach me that look.”

“You have to become a mother first,” I teased, patting him on the back and sending him on his way after our son. 

Rising to my feet, I prepared to join the most important men in my life, and stopped of my own accord. The older man had trailed out after Dennis, and I could hear them talking between themselves as they put on their own coats so they could head outside. I was left with the older women and I knew this had been planned in advance. This was a completely strategic move - divide and conquer. 

I would remain here, inside and with our mother’s so they could work on moulding me to fit the desired path they had for my life. And our father’s would be working on Dennis. Gathering my hands in front of me, I clasped them tight and prepared myself. It was better to get this over and done with. 

“Come and join us for a chat,” Mum started, patting the space between her and Mrs Creevey. After having gone through this for two years, I knew better than to get myself in between them. 

Instead of joining them, I sat down on the sofa directly opposite them. Crossing my feet at the ankle, I asked, “What did you want to chat about?”

The two older women shared a look before Mrs Creevey spoke up, “Colin is a wonderful boy.”

“He is.” 

“He’s a wonderful boy that deserves a two-parent household.” 

“He has a two-parent household,” I pointed out, knowing it was not what they wanted to hear. 

My mum sighed like she was exasperated, “I understand what you and Dennis are doing, but there is some merit for the more traditional way of parenting.”

Eyes narrowed, I asked, “What sort of merit?”

And before I could hear any sort of answer, Colin ran into the room, crying and sniffling. Hearing his first sniffle, I opened up my arms and my son instantly clambered into my arms. His chubby arms wrapped around my neck as I cooed soothingly, rubbing his back. 

“What happened?” I asked, looking to the three older men who walked into the room after Colin. 

Dennis took one look at the situation, clearly recognised it as one of interrogation, and crossed the room to join me. Sitting next to me, he rubbed Colin’s back as our son burrowed his face into the crook of my neck. “He was running around outside and tripped over a tree root. I checked his knees and he’s alright, but I think he’s crying from the shock of falling.”

“He just needs a bit of comforting.” 

Securely wrapping my arms around him, I continued to rock Colin as I murmured comforting words under my breath. Sick of standing in the doorway, the grandfathers walked into the rooms to join their wives and I made a face at the lingering smell of cigarette smoke that trailed after my father. Before I could complain, Dennis waved his wand and the lingering scent disappeared. 

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Dennis insisted.

Not needing any more words, Dennis reached out a hand, cradling my face and tilting it towards his. Kissing me on the mouth and lingering longer than I was sure either of our parents appreciated, he drew back. Looking into his eyes and unable to stifle a smile, I listened as Colin made a protesting sound - he didn’t seem to appreciate any affection I showed his father. Just to tease our son, he gave me another quick kiss.

“I remember how cigarette smoke affected you the first time around.” 

“Wait,” my mother suddenly exclaimed. I stilled, horrified that we’d probably been called, my eyes flickered apprehensively to my mum. But she wasn’t looking at me, she was looking at Dennis. “What is that on your hand?”

Dennis, confused and uncomprehending, stared at his left hand. Still not understanding, he looked back to my mum for an explanation. 

“That ring,” she pointed at Dennis’s hand before her eyes flickered right back to me. Her eyes dropped to my hand - my left, I knew. 

Mrs Creevey beat her to it, “Did you get married and not tell us!”

Unable to refute it, and knowing we would just get in trouble for admitting that we had been married for almost two months now, I shared a glance with Dennis. His eyes were already there, waiting for me and I knew he was thinking exactly what I was thinking. We’d planned on buttering them up, on telling them over lunch but they’d beat us to it. And they _would_ need buttering up because I knew they would not appreciate that we’d decided one day, to skip the whole engagement process, and just jump right into having a simple registration ceremony. 

Even now, I could already hear our parents complaining about how we could possibly do this to them. I still didn’t understand how our wish to not throw a big extravagant party was somehow a slight against them. Silently, I looked to Dennis, knowing he would at least feel the same way I did.

“So … now that they already know,” I started as Colin clambered off of my lap, “what’s plan B?”

“Plan B?” He offered me a hesitant smile, “How about we drop the baby news right now and hope it tides them over?”

I wasn’t too sure about it, but I agreed with a nod. Part of me expected more shouting, especially when this baby had also been conceived before we’d gotten married. But, it went much better than I’d expected. All protests and all complaints ended and we were quickly being congratulated. Although, I knew the congratulations wouldn’t last for long, not when there was now another life to worry about. I’d take this reprieve whilst I could.


End file.
